Molly Knickerelastics Rubber Pants

Ahh, it was the title that led you here wasn’t it you dirty little minx!

For those of you that are new to this blog you probably think it only gets updated every once in a while, recent posts have been somewhat sparse. Normally the blog is updated five days a week with random guff and assorted stuff from my cluttered up attic of a brain but due to a series of events this year I have not been so diligent in keeping the useless banter up. So, from today, normal service will be resumed with a daily dose of weekday randomness.

I’m a weeks time we start the Lost Alice appearances along with the Car Park Picnics, and if you have never seen a car park picnic then stay tuned, we will bring you all the latest smelly car park reports live each week. Whilst you are waiting let’s move along shall we?

Anyway, to kick things off with a multitude of blog entries here’s a nice blast from the past to get you in the mood and a taster of the strangeness to come; The Pirate Pie Shoppe.

After having his galleon the Sloop Dog confiscated for firing a volley of sixty guns at a canal boat driven by an elderly couple in Norfolk Captn’ Cannon Balls fell on hard times. Finally he managed to scrape up enough pieces of eight after pawning his parrot to open up a pie shop. We join Captn’ Cannon Balls on the opening day of The Booty Pie.

‘You’d not be needin’ them me beauty, think of it like buried treasure. I never laid a finger on him’

‘Then how did he get in the pie?’

‘Shark ate him’

‘Seriously? You expect me to believe that?’

‘Smartly, me lass, he was mendin’ me ship and the shark nabbed ‘im’

‘So what’s in the Salty Dog then, dog?’

‘Aye, that would be silly, it’s Puffin’

‘Puffin?’

‘Aye, Puffin the cabin boy’

‘Another murder! Help! Help!’

‘Now don’t be gettin’ all haulin’ keel, it was his suggestion’

‘Oh my god, how can it be his suggestion?’

‘He suggested he wanted to be captain of me vessel the Sloop Dog me lass’

‘You have a boat?’

‘Aye, I do me beauty’

‘And is it big?’

‘Aye, it’s a sixty footer, a cannon for each foot and a crew of thirty bloodthirsty scallywags awaitin’ adventure.’

‘Hmm, do you have any treasure?’

‘Alas no lass, but I have a map. It marks the spot of Great Blacklegs haul, booty beyond imaginin’

‘That’s a nice cutlass you have there.’

‘Aye it is that lass’

‘What you need is a good scabbard to put it in.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You heard me, come show me how you bury your treasure me lad’

‘Hang on, I’m the pirate here.’

‘Aye, let me scrape the barnacles off your rudder’

‘Out! This is a respectable pie shop, out!’

‘No need to get your yard arm in a twist, fancy going for a blackjack of grog later matey? I’ve crushed men’s skulls between my thighs’

‘Out, out, out!’

The lady leaves.

‘Disgusting, absolutely disgusting. I’m not having any of that kind of filth in my shop’

In walks the next customer, a middle aged lady.

‘Mornin’ lass, yes it is a horn pipe in my pocket and i’m pleased to see you, if you want to see me urchins I’ll show you a real yard arm to split your booty’

Sadly Captn’ Cannon Balls Booty Pie shop closed down several days later after numerous complaints about suggestive behaviour and inappropriate swashbuckling. Further investigations revealed the Captn’ to be a figment of the authors warped imagination just before he was fastened in a straight jacket and placed in a padded cell accompanied by the shouts of ‘Prepare to be boarded me beauty’ and ‘I’ll smash yer back doors in’. Psychology results still pending provided they can get him to stop typing random blog entries like this one.